


Perfectly Perfect

by just_ann_now



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Birthday Party, Cake, Fluff, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What do you mean, you don't have a birthday?" Amy sputtered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfectly Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after _The Big Bang_ but before _The Impossible Astronaut_. 
> 
> Originally posted to the LJ Community, 3fan_holidays, in December of 2011.

**Perfectly Perfect**

"What do you mean, you don't have a birthday?" Amy sputtered. "Aren't Time Lords born? Or even if they aren’t, if they're hatched, say, like emus, or dinosaurs, wouldn't you have, oh, a hatching day, or something, to celebrate?"

"If he has a belly button, that would be proof that he was born..." Rory added. 

"Don't be ludicrous, Roranicus Pondicus,” the Doctor sniffed.  “My belly button is none of your concern. Of course Time Lords are born; we're mammals, after all, or mammal-like creatures: born breathing air, have fur or hair, drink mil...well, you know. We're almost exactly like humans, except for the two hearts, and other various Time-Lord-specific items of anatomy that I would blush to discuss and, consequently, won't.  But, long story short, I'm sure I was born, at some point, but after nine hundred some-odd years, and no one else around to remind me of  the date, no, I don't really have any idea when my birthday would be."  

_No one to remember his birthdays?_ Amy’s heart gave a little lurch. “Well, if you were, say, to just arbitrarily decide on a birthday, what day would you like it to be? Any particular favorite?"

“Oh, I don’t know, one day's as good as another when you're time traveling. I could pick  a big one, I suppose, Buddha’s birthday, or the day the Lost Moon of Poosh reappeared, but then the date would just get lost in the muddle of all those bigger things. Best to pick a simpler one, say, Winter Solstice Day. That would be, what, December 22?"  

"Winter? Why Winter?” Amy scoffed. “Nobody wants to have their birthday in the middle of winter. If you’re picking a solstice, why not Summer? We could go to the beach. Waikiki, or Copacabana, or Bondi,  in Australia, if you _have_ to have something in the month of December."

"The beach would be brilliant. I've always wanted to go to Waikiki," Rory agreed. 

"No. No beaches. Can you imagine me at a beach? I'd stew up like a lobster. And I’d never get all the sand out of my boots, or other places. No, I like cool. Cool is cool. I like cold. I like cold, and dark, and stars. Cold and dark and stars and, what's that smell, in the winter when it’s all cold and dark and starry? Fir, is it? Or cedar?  Or moonlight? No, not moonlight; moonlight smells like vanilla and peppercorns. " 

Amy looked toward Rory; he nodded. "Got it," Amy said. You get us Winter Solstice, Northern Hemisphere, Earth, and we'll get you a birthday party."

¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)¸.•*¨)

It was cold, but not too cold. The air tasted crisp on the tongue. The sky was spangled with a million stars and the occasional aircraft and telecom satellite. A sliver of moon hung drunkenly, too dispirited to compete with the arrhythmic flicker of the Northern Lights. There were intermittent showers of falling stars, as well. The whole firmament seemed determined to celebrate the Doctor’s birthday with one whiz-bang celestial light show.

 

The three of them were stretched out on a soft rug that looked to be an antique Herat, from Persia, and probably was. Amy had brought a coconut layer cake, a _Dulce de Leche_ cake, and a _Bûche de Noël_. There were also tartlets, truffles, petit-fours, and every type of bonbon that Rory's aunts at Tres Eleganza Catering Service, Leadworth's Finest, could dream up. There was a pot of peppermint hot chocolate, a pot of steaming coffee, and a pot of mulled wine. The Doctor poured some of each into his mug, swirled it about, took a deep swig, and sighed happily.  
   
“This is very _nearly_ perfect, Ponds,” he said. “It’s just lacking one thing to make it absolutely _perfectly_ perfect...”

Suddenly there was a disturbance in the air - a glimmering,  accompanied by a rustling, like the sound of a thousand whirring hummingbird wings, and River Song appeared. She was wearing a long shearling coat, rich with beading and embroidery in crimson, silver, and gold . A band of braided leather was twined into her hair. She looked dazzling, like a Winter Goddess from some alien planet. Amy’s breath caught. _Wow_ , she heard Rory whisper. 

River knelt down on the blanket, her thighs straddling the Doctor’s hips. He only had time to throw one panic-stricken glance towards his friends before River wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him towards her for a long, _long_ , kiss. By the time River released him, he was pale and sweaty and quite out of breath. 

“Hello, Sweetie,” she drawled, in that lush, throaty voice. “Were you going to say that _my_ not being here was the one thing keeping your birthday from being absolutely perfectly perfect?”

“Well,” he gasped. “I was going to say Jammy Dodgers, but I suppose you’ll do just as well.”


End file.
